


i rewind the tape but all it does is pause

by missymeggins



Category: Castle (TV 2009)
Genre: Episode: s07e01 Driven, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 23:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30012807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins
Summary: It’s whiplash - faith to doubt and back again with every passing day and she hates herself for not being sure of him. He doesn't deserve her doubt but the pain of losing him eclipses her ability to blindly hope the way he taught her to.
Relationships: Kate Beckett/Richard Castle
Kudos: 2





	i rewind the tape but all it does is pause

**Author's Note:**

> not me writing castle fic in the year 2021??? but uh the comfort rewatch sparked this i guess. turns out i still have all the castle/beckett feels

The first two weeks she feels nothing but certainty and she steels herself against everyone else’s doubts. 

There are always eyes on her in the precinct, subtle glances with all too clear meanings; they think she’s a fool. 

But they don’t know Richard Castle like she does.

She’s half asleep at her desk when she hears the scraping of a chair and she is instantly awake, eyes shooting to her side with the desperate belief that his will be there looking at her. 

It’s not him of course and in the moment of realisation she feels stupid for ever thinking it could be. 

The janitor reaches for the chair and her voice is sharp, “No.” She puts her hand on the arm, holding it in place. 

“Miss I’ve been asked to remove this chair.” 

“No,” she yells, feeling a tide rise in her that she knows she cannot stop. “You can’t take it.” 

He tries again, “Miss, it’s just a chair.”

Her gun is aimed at his chest before she can even process that she’s pulled it. Her hands shake with the realisation as his eyes widen in fear and she slumps back into her chair as she sobs. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. 

But still, she can’t let it go. 

“Please don’t take the chair,” she begs him and he looks back at her, eyes wide and a little fearful, but he lets go and walks away. 

She doesn’t move.

It’s Alexis who takes her home and puts her to bed. 

She’s not even sure who called her but one moment she’s alone, eyes still fixed on the place where he should be, and then there’s a flash of red hair in front of her and small hands grasping hers. 

“Come on Kate, I’m taking you home,” Alexis says gently.

Alexis guides her downstairs, into a cab, back to the loft and into bed. 

It’s wrong, she thinks, how easily this girl takes care of the people who are supposed to care for her. She’s not a child anymore but still, she’s his child, Martha’s grandchild, and although they’ve never applied a label to the relationship they’ve gradually built, Kate knows she should never have had to take care of her too. A long time ago she promised Castle that if anything ever happened to him she would take care of Alexis. Oh, how she’s let him down.

“I’m sorry Alexis,” she whispers. “I miss him so much.” 

“Me too Kate,” she whispers back and Kate reaches for her, pulling her into an unprecedented hug and Alexis clings to her until they both fall asleep. 

“Beckett, you can’t pull a gun on the janitor for trying to take his chair.” 

“I know Sir.” 

“I mean it Beckett. You need to keep it together, I want you here. Don’t make me do my job and suspend you.”

She nods, “Yes sir.” 

Gates nods in return and she’s thankful sometimes for the way Gates allows things to go unspoken. 

And yet she finds herself unable to leave. She knows everyone else’s opinion; she’s grateful for Ryan’s steadfast belief in Castle, and she understands Esposito’s pragmatic anger, and she feels stifled by Alexis and Martha’s blind love for him. But none of them are objective, they’re all informed by their relationships with him.

She’s desperate to hear an answer - any answer - from someone who isn’t. 

“Do you think he left me?" she asks, unable to stop the tears that roll down her cheeks. Gates is the last person she ever expected to let herself be this vulnerable with. It’s like de ja vu almost; moments with Montgomery that she never thought would be repeated with another Captain. 

“Beckett look at me,” Gates says firmly. “You know I am not that man’s biggest fan. He is childish, unprofessional and a pain in my ass. But I conceded long ago that despite all those qualities, he is an honest, loyal, loving man and I don’t believe for a second that he would leave you. I know he loved you. And I know he loved his family. He wouldn’t abandon them, not even to save face if had wanted to call off the wedding. He might be childish but he’s not a coward and he’s not selfish. Keep looking Kate.” 

So she clings onto this tiny piece of hope Gates has given her and she pours herself into the case. 

It’s terrifying in its familiarity but she tells herself that she solved her mother’s case so she can solve this one too. 

And she couldn’t bring her mother back but she refuses to have to grieve him too. 

But by the fifth week she can’t stand the sight of her engagement ring and she pulls it off her finger in anger, hurling it across the room. 

She always believed in logic, in facts, but he taught her to look for the story. She hates him now because no matter which way she looks at it, the logical explanation, and the story both say the same thing: he was a coward who left her on their wedding day and tried to fake his death to save face. 

She wakes in the middle of the night and her hand feels empty, and the bed is even emptier but she can’t do anything about that so she gets down on her knees until she finds the ring and she slides it back onto her finger. The familiar weight of it returns her to normalcy. 

It only lasts as long as it takes to climb back into their bed. A ring on her finger cannot make up all the spaces in her life that are empty without him.

In the morning she catches Alexis crying at a puddle of spilt coffee at her feet, frozen to the spot, shoulders shaking, and Kate is sure again: he couldn't have done this. Richard Castle would never put his daughter through this much pain. 

Nothing makes sense. 

It’s whiplash - faith to doubt and back again with every passing day and she hates herself for not being sure of him. He doesn't deserve her doubt but the pain of losing him eclipses her ability to blindly hope the way he taught her to. 

When she gets the call that he’s been found she finds herself steeled for the worst. She doesn’t mean to, doesn’t _want_ to, but she can’t stop herself from slipping into Detective Beckett, interrogating him like a suspect. 

Because he doesn’t have an explanation for her and she doesn’t know how to forgive him for that.

He goes into full conspiracy mode the moment they finish talking to the second Mr Jenkins, pacing and theorising out loud as though he can solve it if he just keeps talking enough. 

And part of her wants to let him, see if he can actually get there, but the rest of her needs it to stop. She needs this ordeal to be over, case closed one way or another so she can move on.  
She steps beside him as she paces and catches his hand - but she doesn’t look at him yet. 

“I don’t know what the hell is going on. That was not the Jenkins I met and none of this makes sense. But I need you to convince me. One shot Castle and it better be more than the fact that you wouldn’t pitch a tent there.” 

Her voice is steel and he recognises this; it’s the voice she uses to hide any trace of vulnerability in the face of something that actually terrifies her and to hear her use it with him is worse than how it feels to be missing two months of his life. 

“Kate look at me. Please.” 

She breathes deeply and lifts her eyes to his. It hurts to look at him now, this man she loves so deeply, whose absence has shattered her in ways she never knew were possible. 

“I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know how to explain any of this. But Kate the last thing I remember is calling you from the car that day because I couldn’t wait to marry you and I needed to hear your voice and tell you I loved you. I did not disappear to get out of marrying you. I love you Kate and there hasn’t been a single moment since I realised it that I ever wanted anything but to be with you. Always.” 

She waits for her brain to tell her if this is enough to trust him. She wanted proof, something incontrovertible even though she knew there wasn't actually anything he could offer. She wants the evidence but it doesn’t exist. 

Instead, there’s the story. His story, their story; that he loves her, has always loved her. And she realises that it has to be enough, she has to _choose_ for it to be enough. She lets herself step into his arms, burying her head below his shoulder like she’s done so many times before and his arms come around her and she breaks. 

He holds her until the sobs stop and she pulls back just enough to look at him and say, “Let’s go home okay.” 

“We can’t just pick where we left off can we, as if nothing happened?” he asks her and she’s honest when she tells him, “No.” 

But when she wakes up in the middle of the night as she has done for the past eight weeks, heart aching at the loss of him and steeled to feel the emptiness of their bed, she instead hears him breathing next to her and she reaches out to touch him. Her fingers barely brush his arm but he feels her, like he always does, and still half asleep rolls over and slings an arm over her. So she rolls back over and settles against him and feels the ache in her chest start to dissipate. 

They can’t pick up where they left off. Too much has changed. 

But this hasn’t and that’s enough.


End file.
